


Enough of a Bastard

by irisbleufic, procrastinatingbookworm



Series: Have Faith [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Confrontations, Disability, Do not translate without permission or copy to another site/app, Established Relationship, Fallen Angels, Fix-It, Hastur Is A Hot Mess, M/M, Neurodiversity, Post-Canon, Post-Fix-It, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Second Chances, Self-Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 13:25:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19426864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinatingbookworm/pseuds/procrastinatingbookworm
Summary: “So long as we don’t do anythin’ to him or his angel, he won’t do nothin’ to us.”  Ligur sniffed derisively.  “Major failin’ in a demon, pacifism.”“No worse than love,” Hastur pointed out.  “Which we’re all guilty of these days, seems like.”“See, the way I reckon, it’s like…”  Ligur frowned, searching for words.  “If angels, cruelest buggers in all Creation, can love?  Then so can we.”





	Enough of a Bastard

A week after Ligur’s resurrection—two weeks after his death—Hastur finally let Ligur out of his sight.

“Just runnin’ an errand,” Ligur reassured him, smoothing Hastur’s bed-tousled hair. “Won’t be long.” At Hastur’s petulant groan, Ligur kissed him. “Love ya, if...s’okay ter say?”

Hastur sat up from the tangle of dingy blankets, watching as Ligur picked through the mess of their clothes on the floor. “You git. I said it first.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Ligur, happily. “Right.” He muddled into his pants and trousers, then Hastur’s shirt. It had holes in the elbows, and three missing buttons. “Didn’t mind it none.”

Hastur noticed and raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything.

Ligur put on Hastur’s coat next, and then the scarf Hastur had taken to wearing Up There.

“You doin’ that on purpose?” Hastur grumbled, while Ligur put on his boots—his own; he and Hastur wore different sizes. “Stealin’ my clothes?”

“Uh-huh.” Ligur double-knotted his frayed boot-laces and stood up. “They smell like you.”

Hastur blinked, which was more adorable than it ought to have been, so Ligur smiled at him.

“Yer a sap,” said Hastur, with difficulty.

“Makes two of us.” Ligur crossed the room, cupping Hastur’s face to kiss him goodbye. “Ain’t there work that needs doin’? Surprised Beelzebub didn’t come an’ drag us out by the ears. Dagon’s too soft.”

“Dunno.” Hastur pressed his face into Ligur’s chest, wrapping his arms around his waist. “No one’s sayin’ a blessed thing lately. Not that I woulda cared ’bout that one bit.”

Ligur extricated himself with more difficulty than he expected. Hastur was holding on tight.

“You do somethin’ other than sit around an’ miss me. You did too much of that. It ain’t right.”

Hastur avoided his gaze, so Ligur set a hand against Hastur’s jaw and tilted his chin up.

“I mean it. I’m right here. You’ve hardly let go of me fer a week. I ain’t leavin’ you, promise.”

“What’re you _doin’_ to me?” Hastur growled, clutching at Ligur’s lapels and pulling him down for a fierce, filthy kiss. “Yer killin’ me.”

“That’s just dramatic,” Ligur drawled, sucking on Hastur’s bottom lip. “Nobody’s dying, yeah?”

“Still haven’t told me where you’re off to,” Hastur said, scowling fiercely. “So how do I know?”

“’Cause it’s over,” Ligur soothed him. “There ain’t a point ter anyone killin’ anyone these days. We’ve all got, whatsit, _amnesty_.”

“Since bloody when?” Hastur snapped. “They had me jumpin’ hoops just to bring you back.”

“Dunno. I woke up knowin’ that. No one wants ter deal with any of it, so they ain’t gonna.”

“What about Crowley?” Hastur asked. 

Ligur still wasn’t sure why or even _when_ the pronunciation had changed, but he trusted Hastur.

“So long as we don’t do anythin’ to him or his angel, he won’t do nothin’ to us.” Ligur sniffed derisively. “Major failin’ in a demon, pacifism.”

“No worse than love,” Hastur pointed out. “Which we’re all guilty of these days, seems like.”

“See, the way I reckon, it’s like…” Ligur frowned, searching for words. “If angels, cruelest buggers in all Creation, can love? Then so can we.”

Hastur’s eyes shone. Ligur hated seeing that look on his face, wonder and despair all tangled up.

“Sooner I go, sooner I’ll be back,” Ligur said, pressing a kiss to Hastur’s forehead. He’d seen it in a movie somewhere, and it seemed like the right kind of tender. Humans were odd.

“You don’t have orders,” Hastur said gruffly, pretending he wasn’t on the verge of tears. “ _Why_?”

Ligur knelt on the bed and brushed his thumb across Hastur’s cheek. He debated concocting a white lie, and then decided that would just get Hastur more riled up. 

“Those twats hurt you. I ain’t seen you like this since…” He trailed off, knowing better than to bring up the Fall, especially with Hastur all but trembling in his arms. “Practically _ever_. So I’m gonna have a word with ’em.”

Hastur drew in a breath, clearly misunderstanding Ligur’s intentions, so Ligur cut him off.

“I’m just gonna talk, promise. No use in anyone gettin’ hurt. There’s been enough fightin’, all right?” He swallowed hard. “I’m sick of it. All of it. I just wanna set things straight, ’cause they didn’t give a damn how bad they messed us about. You defended me when there was nobody else ter do it. Who’s gonna defend _yer_ honor, eh?”

Hastur grabbed Ligur around the waist once again, shutting his eyes. “I ain’t got none ter defend, remember? Or did dyin’ and comin’ back scramble yer wits?” 

“Then I’m defendin’ what’s mine,” Ligur rested his hands on Hastur’s face. “It ain’t right, what they did to you. The fact you won’t tell me ’bout it—that’s proof enough!”

“Fine,” Hastur growled, letting go of Ligur, covering his face with both hands, “but if you don’t come back to me, there’ll be a War to end all Wars.”

“I’ll come back,” Ligur promised, squeezing Hastur’s shoulders, which he hoped was soothing.

Leaving ached more than Ligur expected, but he never would have been able to drag himself away if he’d stayed another moment.

If the circumstances had been any different, Ligur _would_ have gone with intent to harm. 

But that Antichrist brat was a force to be reckoned with—playing with life and death like it didn’t mean anything to him. Ligur didn’t want to upset the balance they’d managed to strike.

Forget being like his father. Adam was too much like his _Grandfather_ for anyone’s good.

Ligur didn’t remember Him very well. But he remembered the War and the Fall, remembered the ashes of Sodom and Gomorrah. Remembered Job, and even that Yeshua kid—who knew if he’d _actually_ been any kind of Savior. It hadn’t mattered in the end. 

Lot’s wife was one of the lucky ones—she hadn’t even had time to suffer, salt and then ash.

If Adam said _let there be no more messin’ about_ , then Ligur was inclined to agree.

The bookshop was just how Ligur remembered it. Dingy and tucked away, with a mundane air that almost made Ligur’s eyes skip over it.

The lock was easily persuaded, but the door stuck in its frame, a victim of the August humidity. 

Ligur pressed his shoulder against it and _shoved_. He fell through, landing flat on his back.

Aziraphale was already waiting for him, eyes aflame, hands sparking like they might catch fire.

“Put it away, I ain’t here fer a fight,” Ligur said, dizzily sitting up. “ _Oof_. Where’s yer other half? I got some things ter say.”

Crowley wandered in from the back room. He was barefoot, sunglasses suspiciously absent, hair even more suspiciously tousled.

Ligur supposed he shouldn’t judge. He and Hastur had almost gone at it right there in the lane.

Slowly, he stood up, raising his hands in an attitude of truce before sticking them in his pockets. The fabric was strangely gritty, and Ligur suddenly remembered that he was wearing Hastur’s coat. What he was feeling, then, was…

“Not that I object to peaceful conversation,” Aziraphale said, relaxing cautiously, “but I’d like to know what you’re doing here.”

“Hastur’s been havin’ nightmares,” Ligur said. “Bad ones. I ain’t ever seen him like this. He’s all kinds of desperate. _Clingy_ , if you follow.”

Crowley looked stricken. He rubbed the side of his neck and said, “ _Ah_. Yep, those’ll do it.”

“Sure enough, it ain’t what you did that’s gettin’ to him. He’s seen me discorporated before. Damn near killed the human that did it, but he wasn’t haunted by it, not once he got me back.”

“I fail to see your point,” Aziraphale said, in the stiff tone of one who did, in fact, see the point, and disliked it for a multitude of reasons. “There’s no comparison, case open and shut.”

“Trials, huh?” Ligur snarled. He was _angry_ , angrier than he ever remembered being. “Makin’ him prove his virtue? Havin’ him watch you two live your happy-ever-after while he was grieving? Shovin’ hope and faith down his throat like they’re some kinda _cure_ for what he was going through?”

“We’re sorry,” Crowley said anxiously. “I kept apologizing. Profusely, even. We had to—”

“You shut yer mouth!” Ligur turned on him, furious. “I don’t want ter hear any excuses. Yer sorry, got that. Yer a failure of a fuckin’ demon.”

Aziraphale drew an indignant breath. He looked like he was about to give some useless lecture.

“It’s _you_ I want ter hear a sorry from,” Ligur said, forcing his anger under control. “He won’t tell me nothin’ about what those trials were, but I know angels. You set it up as a punishment, didn’t you?”

“It was more complicated than that,” Crowley said quietly. “We weren’t the only ones invo—”

“It’s been six thousand years,” Ligur scoffed. “An’ yer tellin' me it’s taken you this long to figure out angels are cruel, stuck-up bastards, an’ you can’t trust ’em to be kind ter _anyone_?”

“First off, we were rather, er, coerced into this by Adam Young. Second, I had no agenda to punish Hastur,” said Aziraphale, stiffly. “Perhaps the lesson that was _intended_ to have been taught came across rather harsher than...”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale with wide, wounded eyes. “ _Angel_ ,” he said plaintively.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale all but snapped, “they tried to kill you! An eye for an eye, isn’t it?”

“We tried ter collect ’im, an’ _failed _, I might add,” Ligur growled, suddenly understanding Hastur’s rage-fueled fits of pyromania. “So you put my— _my_ Hastur through Hell just so he could get me back!”__

__“That’s what he called you, too,” Crowley said mournfully. “Almost right off. _His_.”_ _

__Ligur pinched the bridge of his nose and growled. “You flayed him,” he said. “Saw he was all open wounds and decided to make sure they scarred.”_ _

__Crowley swayed on his feet like he might actually faint. “Okay, _okay_ ,” he said. “Point taken.”_ _

__“I told you, shut _up_!” Ligur resisted the urge to stomp his foot. “What’d you do ter him?” he asked Aziraphale, as coldly as he could manage. “What were the trials, then?”_ _

__Aziraphale closed his eyes. “Virtues. The task Adam assigned us was to ensure that Hastur was virtuous enough to deserve—”_ _

__“What did you have to do ter prove _you_ deserved this?” Ligur sneered, gesturing between the two of them. His chest hurt. “Eh?”_ _

__“We saved the world,” Aziraphale said. “I suppose you weren’t around for that bit, were you?”_ _

__“You saved _yourselves_ ,” Ligur said, delighted to prove him wrong, “and what you liked. Wasn’t until Boss threatened to show that you actually started giving a damn about anyone else.”_ _

__“How _exactly_ ,” Aziraphale hissed, “do you know what you’re talking about?”_ _

__“Adam brought me back knowin’ what he knows, that bein’ bloody _everything_ ,” Ligur said with vicious glee. “I think I’m the only one other than him who’s got the whole day crystal-clear.”_ _

__Crowley’s eyes widened with both shock and shame. “Then you saw what I was fighting with?”_ _

__“A tire-iron,” Ligur replied, tauntingly vindictive. “Now, you tell me all of what I wanna know.”_ _

__“ _Or_?” Aziraphale sneered. “You’ll report us? To whom? No one’s listening. Not anymore.”_ _

__“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, “he’s _right_. It was cruel, what we did to Hastur. The mirror-trick especially, but walking him into my flat so he’d see—”_ _

__Ligur felt the floorboards beneath his feet start to burn. He realized what Crowley was doing. It was the same thing he’d always be tempted to do: give Aziraphale an out._ _

__“I want ter hear it from him,” Ligur said, impatient. “S’clear enough _yer_ arse is sorry.”_ _

__“What part of _we were forced to comply_ did you not understand?” Aziraphale asked._ _

__“Same old story it’s been fer all of us,” Ligur shot back. “Your turn to do what Hastur did.”_ _

__“If you’re here to put us through a gauntlet of your own,” said Aziraphale, wearily, “get on with it.”_ _

__“All I want’s an apology fer the hand you had in torturin’ him,” Ligur seethed. “How hard is it?”_ _

__“Angel, he’s _not_ going to leave till you man up,” Crowley sighed. “You know that, right? Adam might have made participation compulsory, but _we_ designed the trials. That’s enough to count as joint stakeholders.”_ _

__“Then why isn’t he demanding an apology from _you_?” Aziraphale asked. “Loyalty to the old home team?” He sniffed. “I rather think not.”_ _

__“I had Hastur feed the ducks in St. James’s Park, and suggested he help Uriel and Tanith get in touch! You had him staring at the ashes of his dead lover and confessing to himself in a mirror!”_ _

__“What I want,” Ligur said, beginning to doubt the utility of his demand, “is accountability.” He wanted to enjoy the lovers’ spat that seemed to be brewing, but he just felt tired. No wonder these insufferably tiresome ditherers had been exiled to the Garden._ _

__“There wasn’t any harm done in the end,” Crowley soothed, taking Aziraphale’s hand, but looking at Ligur. “Just say you’re sorry for being a bigot and we can move on—it’s the first apology you made to _me_.”_ _

__Ligur buried his face in his hands. “Now yer both missing the point! You hurt Hastur, an’ that was wrong! Can you quit being bloody children about it? We can’t all go native like you lot. Can’t all _adapt_. Hastur’s an angry bloke. So’m I, come to it. How do you think we got to be Dukes? Some of us got supervisors, an’ quotas, an’ the Boss himself breathin’ down our necks. We never _had_ Eden! We never had bookshops or flats, or a damn thing of our own. So we made bloody do. With each other. And you two went and tore it up without a thought for anyone but yerselves, and it ain’t _fair_! So own up to the fact that yer a pair of selfish fuckin’ _bastards_! It’s the least you can do for what you put us through.”_ _

__Aziraphale hadn’t blinked for nearly the entirety of Ligur’s tirade, which was at least progress._ _

__“Are you going to leave me alone in this?” Crowley asked quietly. “Did I misplace my faith?”_ _

__“You might well have done,” Aziraphale sighed in defeat. “I regret so much. I can’t begin to hold myself accountable for it all. This isn’t even the _greatest_ of my sins.”_ _

__Ligur brightened at that. He hadn’t even thought of it that way, that maybe the Principality of Eden had outdone even the worst of them Downstairs. The knowledge was freeing._ _

__“It doesn’t matter, I don’t think,” Crowley said, holding his hands up plaintively when Ligur bristled all over again. “We’re all hypocrites and liars, we all value ourselves and… what’s ours… more than what we’re told matters.”_ _

__“Crawly, would you _shut it_ ,” Ligur muttered, “and let me get one thing clear?” He looked Aziraphale dead in the eyes. “Yer gonna suffer for it, eh? You admit as much? Gonna lose sleep if you happen to try?”_ _

__“Just what makes you think I wasn’t _already_ losing sleep over this?” Aziraphale retorted._ _

__“Dunno, the abject denial?” Ligur scoffed. Despite his tone, he was relieved beyond breath, that perhaps he wasn’t alone in thinking that even demons deserved remorse._ _

__“I can vouch for that statement,” said Crowley, cheerfully. “He hasn’t had a decent wink in—”_ _

__“Huh,” said Ligur, fury fading to resigned satisfaction, “I reckon that’s all right, then. I’ll take it.”_ _

__“Are you…er…going to have a word with Adam?” Aziraphale asked. “He’s the final authority.”_ _

__“Playin’ dice with God’s your game, not mine,” Ligur concluded with a shrug, turning on his heel._ _

__“Great to have you back!” Crowley called, as nervously chipper as ever. “Don’t be a stranger!”_ _

__The moment Ligur arrived in Hell, he felt his stomach drop. Disorientation was common among infrequent commuters, but Ligur thought he’d gotten past that. This was _dread_ , cold and strange._ _

__There was no point in knocking on the door of the bedroom before Ligur entered. No one in Hell knocked, and Hastur was waiting on him anyway.  
Ligur didn’t know what he’d expected to see on his return, but he certainly hadn’t expected this._ _

__Hastur was sitting on the bed. His wings were out, and he’d wrapped them around himself, all but hidden by the feathers._ _

__“There, now, none of that,” Ligur muttered, crossing the room with heavy steps. “Didn’t I say it’d be all right? Didn’t I promise I’d come back?”_ _

__Hastur’s wings unfolded from around him. They weren’t black, or even tattered grey. They were a dark, rich brown that shaded into iridescence at the tips—not unlike a mallard’s, come to think of it._ _

__“Figured maybe I’d need ter come after you,” Hastur said morosely. “Preparations an’ whatnot.”_ _

__Ligur sat down next to him, gingerly unfurling his own wings. He took Hastur’s hands and squeezed them, before leaning forward to kiss him. Ligur plucked a down-feather from Hastur’s hair._ _

__“I didn’t follow yer arse down fer nothin’,” Ligur said fiercely. “You was worth leavin’ gits like them behind. Still not convinced Crawly really Fell. He’s where he ought ter be. So’m I.”_ _

__“Of course you’d say somethin’ sappy like that,” Hastur replied bitterly, sweeping his wings forward to wrap around them both. “Leave it to yer bloody-minded impulsiveness.”_ _

__“Yeah, but you can’t fault me fer sincerity,” Ligur said, winking. “Always was my failing, eh?”_ _

__“Hey,” said Hastur, suddenly enough that Ligur felt the dread creep back for a moment. “What’s up with yer wings?”_ _

__Ligur flexed them, fanning his feathers. “Always been like this. Same ol’ useless flappers.”_ _

__“Not _glowing_ , they haven’t,” Hastur ran one hand over the feathers. Light spilled from between his fingers, startling in the room’s perpetual gloom. “What’s with that?”_ _

__Ligur marveled for a moment. “Prolly some shite about love bein’ divine.” He shrugged, thoughtful. “ _Or_ I got so pissed at them wankers I awakened some holy fury.”_ _

__“Always knew you was enough of a bastard to be worth likin’,” said Hastur, “an’ more besides.”_ _


End file.
